


Waiting

by corvidity



Category: Gintama
Genre: Be forever yorozuya spoilers, Gen, Introspection, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidity/pseuds/corvidity
Summary: Waiting is a labour of love and despair, and Shinpachi and Kagura come to know the depths of both as they wait for Gintoki’s return. (Takes place pre-Be Forever Yorozuya)





	1. Year 1

A few weeks after Gintoki’s disappearance and Shinpachi was determined to carry on as usual. True, he had no real way of knowing whether his erstwhile employer would come back or not. He wasn’t one to believe in fate or forces beyond his reckoning – a samurai controlled his own destiny, after all. But he felt, selfishly, that he was entitled to something more than a cold dismissal by the universe. With his father and brother Hajime gone, Gintoki had to be the one to come back. More than anyone else he carved his own path; was the one whose silver soul would light the way back from the dead.

Not that he was, well, dead.

Sadaharu’s ears perked up at his entrance.

“Hey boy,” Shinpachi murmured, patting the giant dog on the head. Strange. His fur was coarser and shaggier than he last remembered. “Hasn’t Kagura been looking after you?” 

A quiet whine.

Shinpachi rolled his eyes. His gaze alighted briefly on the monstrous shears left on the table, then to the thin carpet of white fur on the floorboards that was interspersed with a couple of clumps. Seemed Kagura had thought better of her venture and gone out to find a more suitable instrument. Shinpachi groused to himself as he hunted for the brush he knew Kagura kept in her closet bedroom. Leave it to him to be the adult, Gintoki or no.

Sadaharu sat admirably still as Shinpachi groomed. In the uncanny quiet he could hear the dog’s gentle panting and the low silken rush of the brush. For the briefest of moments, he resented Gintoki’s disappearance. It was so like him to leave them to clean up after his mess.

Sadaharu had the good excuse of being an over-exuberant giant dog with an even more enthusiastic owner – a child owner, whose grasp on day-to-day responsibilities was inversely proportional to her courage in battle. (Her appetite too)

But what had he expected? That Gintoki would do so much as leave a note? He didn’t tell them when he went off to pachinko and gambled away their wages; he would run after a demon sword after being grievously injured by said sword, ignoring express instructions to stay put. 

Shinpachi rooted around in the kitchen for the dustpan, and used it to clean up the fur. Of course, when he’d just finished chasing out the last few hairs from under the sofa, Kagura slammed open the door.

“SADAHARU, I’M BACK!” she yelled, brandishing something that looked even less like a dog shearer and more a –

“Kagura-chan, where did you get that hedge trimmer?!”

After some negotiating, Shinpachi and Kagura returned the hedge trimmer to its rightful owner (Shinpachi bowing in apology a dozen times), then used the shears to cut Sadaharu’s fur. He gave a contented yip as the last of his heavy winter coat hit the floor. With practiced ease, Shinpachi swept the hairs up in a dustpan and deposited them in the garbage.

Kagura watched him uninterestedly, flicking something from her nose. “I guess we gotta do these things together till Gin-chan gets back, right?” She screwed up her face as if there was nothing more deplorable than being forced to cooperate with a pair of glasses.

“That’s right!” Shinpachi returned the dustpan to its proper place and went to wash his hands. “You have to help keep the apartment tidy too,” he called from the bathroom. “You can’t sit around all day doing nothing.”

“That’s what Gin-chan does all the time!” Kagura protested. 

“But he’s not here right now.”

Shinpachi grunted as he wiped his hands dry. He hadn’t meant for that to come out so…what was the word? He’d almost sounded vindictive. Resentful. Those weren’t things he was used to feeling.  

He emerged from the bathroom shaking his hands to dispel the last of the moisture. “I just mean we have to keep the apartment clean until he comes back,” he repeated in a softer tone. “We can’t let Gin-san come back to a pig sty. Or more of a sty than usual.”

Kagura eyed him doubtfully, as she always did when he suggested a responsible and reasonable course of action.   

“Are we gonna have to clean his room too?” she asked with the tone of a person who had standards, thank you very much.

“Yes,” Shinpachi answered firmly. “But we won’t go poking our noses everywhere.”

A series of frantic knocks drew their attention to the door.

“It must be a client!” Shinpachi squeaked. Even with Gintoki gone, there were two members of the Yorozuya left. They’d had one or two (human) clients since his sudden disappearance, and every new one was a gift – or the money they brought with them, anyway. Shinpachi virtually threw himself at the door, sliding it open with such force the rails squeaked in protest.

“Hello!” he cried, Kagura peeking over his shoulder. “Welcome to the Yorozuya Gin-chan! How can we help you today?”

The man standing before them blinked in visible confusion. He adjusted his spectacles carefully, then squinted at the two teenagers, gaze settling on Shinpachi.

“Ah, you’re – you’re the Yorozuya Gin-chan? But aren’t you, you know, a little young?” Shinpachi caught a flash of gold on his lapel, which on closer examination was a badge that read “manager”. Clearly, Shinpachi thought, a man of such high standing had been expecting something more professional.

“Not to worry,” he declared. “Our boss is out for the moment but we’re more than capable of handling affairs in his absence. You can count on us!” He turned to Kagura, still lingering by his shoulder. “Kagura-chan, why don’t you get our client a cup of tea?”

“Oh no, no, no, I’m not a client!”

At this, Shinpachi’s customer service smile screeched to a halt. “You aren’t?”

“No, no.” The manager wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “I just came to return something of yours… or your boss’. I manage a convenience store on the other side of town – ah!”

Kagura had pounced on him, eyes brimming with renewed hope. “You know something about Gin-chan?” She seized the startled man by his lapels and shook him repeatedly. “What is it? What do you have? If you have something of his that means you saw him, right? He’s alive, right? Am I right, am I right?”

“Ah, Kagura-chan, please! Let him breathe!” Shinpachi leaped forward trying to wrestle the younger girl off the manager.

When he finally managed to separate the two and calm Kagura down, the manager’s glasses were lopsided and his hair a tangled mess. Kagura herself could barely stand still, and only Shinpachi’s warning grip on her arm prevented her from tackling him again.

“You must be terribly attached to this ‘Gin-chan’ of yours,” the manager wheezed. Surprisingly, he shook off Shinpachi’s apologies and didn’t seem annoyed, though he refused to come in to the apartment. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he explained.

“Regardless, I’m very sorry!” Shinpachi insisted. “Ah, where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Shinpachi Shimura, and this girl here –”

“I’m Gura-san,” Kagura interrupted snappishly. “Acting boss while Gin-chan is out. You’d better spill whatever information it is you have.”

“Nice to meet you. Though I do wish we could have met in better circumstances.” The manager bowed. “My name is Takashi, manager of Sky Express convenience store. As I said, I’m here to return a lost item. Last week one of the cleaners found a notebook in a toilet cubicle while doing the rounds, and when he checked the inside cover he found a name. Gintoki Sakata.

“The security guard on duty reported seeing a man walk into the cubicle where the notebook had been found, but strangely, he didn’t remember seeing him come out.”

“Did Gin-chan get eaten by a toilet?” Kagura narrowed her eyes.

“As far as I know, our toilets are not carnivorous,” Takashi said in complete seriousness. “Two more of my staff reviewed the footage and couldn’t see him; I personally combed through it myself and came up with nothing.

“We decided to ask around if anyone knew who this Sakata person was, and it took a couple of weeks until one of our customers recognised the name. He directed me here to the Yorozuya.” The manager dug around in his trouser pocket, coming up with a battered brown notebook.

Almost reverently, Shinpachi accepted it. He wasn’t sure if his hands could stop trembling. Kagura snatched it away from him immediately, but he allowed it.

“Mr Takashi, you’re saying Gin-san just didn’t come out of the toilet at all?”

“Absolutely positive.”

“Does that mean he could still be in there?”

“Certainly not. The security guard checked each and every cubicle after closing hours. Not a trace.”

“Hey, Shinpachi, look at this!” Kagura had been flipping through the notebook with barely any thought to the privacy of the contents, and now she was tugging his sleeve repeatedly. He tried shaking her off.

“Ah, can’t it wait? I’m trying to talk to Mr Takashi.”

The manager chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m afraid I can’t be any more help, Shimura. I’ve told you everything I know. Any answers you seek are likely to be in that journal.”

Dismayed but understanding, Shinpachi could only morosely agree. “Yes, well… thank you for coming here in person. We really appreciate it. Don’t we, Kagura-chan?”

“Uh-huh. Come on, you need to see this!”

Takashi bowed and began to head off. At the top of the stairs, he turned around and smiled, a small but warm expression. “I hope you find him. He seems like a very important person to you both.”

Without really knowing the reason, Shinpachi felt tears begin to collect in his eyes. “Y-yes,” he choked out, the weight of six weeks of just _not knowing_ dragging them down his face. Warm cheeks met cold, trembling hands as he rubbed the tears away. He choked back a sob, then spluttered it out when it went down the wrong way. Takashi’s wavering form disappeared from view, kind enough to spare him the embarrassment.

“Shinpachi?” 

Not that Kagura had any sense of embarrassment. But she didn’t seem interested in mocking him; instead, she waved the notebook at him.

“Look at this!”

Pages smelling faintly of bathroom cleaner were pushed into his face, the writing illegible because of how close it was. He could just about make out a circle, the characters scrawled inside it evidently important.

“Eurgh, Kagura-chan, could you…” He used a finger to push the notebook back to a respectable distance. “What… what is this? Nano… machines?”

Paying no attention to the dried tear tracks on his face, he quickly read the rest of Gintoki’s scribbling with increasing consternation. _White plague. Caused by?? Nanomachines? Need to check._ “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know! But it must be important!” 

Sensing that this was a conversation better held in private, Shinpachi herded Kagura back into the apartment, sliding the door firmly shut. She bounced to the nearest sofa, still flipping through the pages. Even Sadaharu ambled over in interest. 

“Forget the nanomachine stuff for a while; is there anything in there that might tell us where Gin-san went?” 

“Uh…” Kagura squinted at a certain passage. “Looks like he ate a poisonous mushroom.”

“What?!” Shinpachi made a grab for the book and got himself a handful of air for his efforts. Eventually he allowed Kagura to read out the parts she thought relevant, and from those they pieced together a sketchy timeline of the events leading up to Gintoki’s disappearance.

“Man…” Shinpachi buried his head in his hands as he tried to process everything they’d just learnt. The earlier flare of resentment churned uncomfortably in his stomach. Gintoki had been so hung up on this “white plague” and seemingly embarked to find a cure for it that Shinpachi felt guilty for doubting his boss’ intentions.  

Kagura gazed up at him, eyes uncharacteristically solemn. “So this means he’ll come back, right?”

“Of course.” Shinpachi reached over and placed a hand on her head. “Gin-san will come back to us.”

*

“Shin-chan! Are you ready yet?”

“Just give me a minute!” Shinpachi checked the contents of the bag once more: fresh incense sticks, a box of chocolate macadamias, and a (securely packed) box of his sister’s omelette.  He wished they could have found better offerings, but money was tight of late and the needs of the living ranked above those of the dead.

Glancing around one last time to make sure he hadn’t left anything important behind, Shinpachi dashed to the dojo entrance where Tae was waiting.

“You packed my omelette, right?”

“Of course!” Shinpachi nodded furiously, while on the inside he hoped Father would forgive him.

They set off for the cemetery at a sedate pace. His sister seemed lost in her thoughts, and he didn’t want to intrude; especially not today of all days. Shinpachi was reminded of their annual pilgrimages to the cemetery before Gintoki, the same sombreness surfacing from his memory. Him starting work at the Yorozuya had taken some of the pressure off Tae, and she’d been happy to see her brother making friends (even if one of said friends was a useless samurai). They would set off for their father’s grave with good news to relay, spirits buoyed by the new friends and allies they’d made.

But now Gintoki was gone and the white plague had become a real threat. The cabaret club had not closed like some of its smaller competitors, but Shinpachi knew his sister feared she would be out of a job soon. Customer numbers were dwindling; some of the hostesses had been laid off, and Otose hung on only because of her good standing. She’d defended the girls who’d been let go, and Shinpachi knew she felt responsible for not putting up enough of a fight. These days “Snack Smile” saw very few genuine smiles.  

With Kabukicho in ailing form from a plague whose source nobody knew, the Four Devas could only urge cooperation among their factions. But fear was a powerful motivator, and crime was up despite their best efforts.

“Shinpachi, don’t look so glum.”

“Huh?” Looking up, he suddenly realised he was lagging behind.

Tae gave him a wide, cheesy grin. “Come now, what would Hajime say? Besides, it’s not your fault things are the way they are. Why did that stupid samurai go off on vacation right when we needed him?”

Shinpachi mustered a similarly wide grin. Here he was, moping and worrying his sister when she had troubles of her own. Some brother he was.

“Right!” he chirped, cringing at his false cheeriness. Tae either didn’t notice or kept up the act as she powered ahead.

“Come on then!”

Walking quickly, they reached their father’s gravestone in no time at all, the winter sun faintly warm on their backs. Birdsong filtered down from the trees, the birds themselves hidden from view. Shinpachi glimpsed a new plot of land not too far away. The soil was picked clean of weeds.

“My, aren’t the gravediggers quick?” Tae remarked. “Like vultures, the lot of them.”

While she dusted the stone clean of dust and droppings, Shinpachi set up their offerings. He winced as he removed the lid from Tae’s omelette, instinctively holding his breath to avoid inhaling the noxious fumes it emitted. Carefully, he slid the box of macadamias beside it. With that done, both siblings lit the sticks of incense they’d brought and placed them into the receptacle.   

Shinpachi silently let out his breath as the fragrance of the incense overpowered the omelette. He knelt beside his sister, and without a further word, they bowed their head in prayer.  

As was customary, Shinpachi gave his annual update. _Hello, father. It’s been another year already, huh? The dojo is still going strong, and we have new students. Some of the kids are extremely promising. They’ll make good samurai yet when we pass on your teachings. Hajime came back to us for a while but he couldn’t stay long. It’s alright. We were happy to see him again, and now he’s in a better place._

_Don’t worry about me; I’m learning so much from Gin-san. Or… I was._

Eyes still closed, he vehemently shook his head. _No, what am I using the past tense for? Gin-san just – went out for a while. He hasn’t come back yet. But, father, he’s amazed me time and time again. I know I’ve said it before, but I won’t ever tire of saying it. He’s a true samurai despite not looking the part._  

Of course, he didn’t believe for a moment that the Shiroyasha of old was dead. The white demon wouldn’t lose a fight with a toilet – or anyone else, for that matter. He didn’t have enough shame to stop drinking strawberry milk and reading JUMP magazines like a boy half his age, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t defend his honour as a samurai. 

He couldn’t be dead, because how else would Shinpachi kill him himself when he finally returned? (Him and Kagura, he silently amended.) Wherever his boss was, it wasn’t the afterlife. Hell, Gintoki being on a different planet conga-dancing with Prince Baka around a campfire was more likely than him being dead.  

But Shinpachi couldn’t quite rid himself of his last doubt. Gintoki had made plenty of enemies in his past and present lives, none of whom had actually succeeded in killing him. Sure, Takasugi had come close on a few occasions, Oboro too. Plenty had injured him, beat him senseless, mocked his past, thrust their chests in his face and boasted of certain victory only to taste the business end of a sharp blade.

With it he’d driven back the night in Yoshiwara; defended all Kabukicho; even granted a courtesan her last desire. Woe betide any force, human or Amanto, that threatened the people he called friends; and woe to them, his own family, who watched him put his life on the line for their sakes. Shinpachi could still taste the salt of his tears, feel the hoarse gasps he drew as he ran towards Gintoki and Hajime. Could see those shaking limbs and bloodied face; him stubbornly, stupidly, using his sword to stand up from a smoking crater where the wall used to be. Could remember the quickening of his own heart, his infuriating realisation that Gintoki was ready to die to give Hajime back to them.

That had always been his problem; wanting to spare others the pain he’d known, taking their tired souls into his own. Beholden to guilt and bad memories, he took the weight of the world on his shoulders when Shinpachi and Kagura were more than willing to share the burden. And now he was off doing the same, finding a cure to an incurable disease without telling anyone. How could someone so courageous be so stupid at the same time?  

Shinpachi didn’t even realise he was crying until the first drops darkened the ground. Why did that silver soul burn too strongly to ever be contained? Why did he give so much of himself without ever expecting anything in return, even if his flame burnt out?

Eyes clenched so tight it hurt, Shinpachi offered one final prayer.

_Father, if you see a silver haired samurai with an obnoxious perm smiling like an idiot, please send him back to us._   

 


	2. Year 2

After seeing her balding loser of a father abandon their family, she was fairly sure Gintoki would come back. Sure, he was less reliable than Umibozou ever was, at least when it came to small things like paying their wages and the rent, but you could rely on him to come back home. Kagura had convinced herself that at any moment she’d hear his drunken drawl and see his tottering silhouette on the other side of the shoji.

She’d wasted many an hour imagining the entire scenario. While Shinpachi mopped the floor for the thousandth (unnecessary) time, she’d be lazing on the sofa chewing a piece of sukonbu. Sadaharu would come bounding in from one of his adventures, trailing mud over the clean floorboards and shedding fur as he went. Then Kagura would hear a familiar groan, smell that NEET stench that could only belong to one samurai, specifically, the most stupid samurai in the universe.

She’d slowly raise her head, peeking over the sofa arm. And in Gintoki would come, dragging himself over the threshold like some bedraggled and entirely ungrateful cat.

She didn’t expect him to apologise (though that would be a bonus), and he would collapse on the sofa and fall right asleep. Then she and Shinpachi would look each other in the eye, silently agree to give him a taste of his own medicine, and vanish downstairs to Otose’s bar to get some drinks and snacks (which Gintoki would have to pay for later) while waiting for him to wake up.

“Kagura!” Shinpachi broke into her daydream, his annoyance more pointed than usual. “Could you please take out the garbage?” He used the end of the duster to indicate the two black bags slouched next to the sofa, and promptly returned to clearing out the spider webs from behind the “sugar content” sign.

“Whatever,” she grumbled, but complied. Why was it that Shinpachi had to boss her around when it came to cleaning the apartment? She lived here full time while he spent the weekends at the dojo. If anything, she knew it better than he did, and should be the one calling the shots. Didn’t matter that he was the older one. Adults tended to fall into the useless or wimpy departments anyway (except the boss lady, of course), and Gintoki was a special case of boy-in-an-adult-body.  

“Make sure you wash your hands afterwards,” he called after her.

“Stop your nagging, four-eyes!” she bawled back. “I’m not stupid.”

Shinpachi gave no sign that he’d heard her, now preoccupied with dusting the front of the sign. Kagura stuck out her tongue, and after hoisting the two bags over her shoulder with ease, clattered down the stairs to the garbage bins in the alley.

For all that she griped at him, she knew Shinpachi had reason to be concerned. The white plague had taken more lives. People afflicted by the illness died within half a month, their hair turning snow-white and their eyes sinking so deep into their sockets they looked like living corpses long before dying. Kabukicho had officially been designated a contamination zone, and the Shinsengumi were doubling down on public hygiene.

Not that it would help. How could anyone defend themselves against machines too small to see? Washing their hands was about the limit to what they could do, as futile as it was.

Gintoki had to be out there looking for the cure. There was no doubt in Kagura’s mind, and she knew Shinpachi shared the solidity of her belief. He’d return one of these days. Even if he couldn’t remember who they were; even if that idiot Takasugi had turned him evil; even if he came back half a robot to an Edo ravaged by the white plague, she and Shinpachi would be there to welcome him home. And when he was back they’d knock some sense into him, then hand him over to Otose to knock her long overdue rent from him.

It didn’t matter if another Amanto ship crash landed in the apartment, leaving only scorched earth and stardust. They’d stand there all the same, among wreckage and ruin, wearing the largest smiles.

Where else would he return?

She climbed back up the stairs. “I’m done!” she yelled.

“Good work, Kagura-chan.” Shinpachi beamed at her through the grime and sweat, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.

“You done yet?” she asked.

“Almost. I’ve just got some washing to hang up, then we can go shopping.”

Kagura scowled. “Do I have to go?” It was far too much like an Adult thing to be enjoyable. Her sentiments were reinforced when Shinpachi bustled past with an armful of laundry.

“And when was the last time you helped do the shopping?”

“Last week,” she retorted. That is, if a quick emergency trip to the shops for sukonbu counted.

But he was already outside hanging up the sheets. Kagura sighed, flopping over the sofa. She didn’t mind working with Shinpachi to clean the apartment, though she’d draw the line at living with him. How did the boss lady manage? Probably through fear and effective discipline. Besides, they _were_ family, and had lived with each other since forever.

And it wasn’t like her own brother had been a patron saint. Granted, he’d had his moments: taking her out to buy steamed dumplings; playing games under a wet, grey sky; sometimes helping Mamie around the dump of a house they called home. But he’d also been gluttonous even by Yato standards, eating everything in sight despite Mamie’s pleas he saved some for Kagura. Their idiot father had only laughed. _A growing boy should eat more._

Kamui had been prone to walking out without the slightest notice too, gone off to spar with the other Yato kids. One day it’d be because she wasn’t enough of a challenge; the next day she was too small, and finally he settled on, _I don’t want to hurt my precious little sister, right?_ Idiot. He never said where he went or when he’d come back (though he returned without fail), and Mamie would worry herself sick. Given all that, Shinpachi wasn’t bad. 

He was more tolerable when Gintoki was around though, if only because most of his nagging was directed at the permanent perm-head.

“Have you washed your hands yet?” Shinpachi stuck his head around the shoji, eyeing her like a strict father. Kagura blew a raspberry, rolling her eyes and sleeves up at the same time.  

“I’m going, I’m going, jeez!”

She stomped to the bathroom, just skirting Sadaharu’s tail. Typically, the tiles gleamed. Shinpachi had done a disgustingly thorough job as usual.

Kagura washed her hands, and feeling grimy, splashed some water on her face before towelling the excess off. A couple of drops clung to her lashes as she squinted at the mirror. It had been a long time since she’d cut her hair, not that the longer hair was inconvenient. Perhaps she should get it cut when they went out? And speaking of shopping…Kagura adjusted the hem of her cheongsam, pulling it down.

As of late it had been riding up her thighs, becoming uncomfortably tight around her chest. At night she found it difficult to sleep when shooting pains went up her legs in near constant bursts, as if invisible hands were stretching her out. One morning she’d realised she could look Shinpachi in the eye without craning her neck.

While the sensations were new, Kagura had heard enough from Tae to understand what was going on. “Puberty”, it was called. But she didn’t know what to do about it. The boss lady made no secret of her disdain for more well-endowed women, so Kagura wasn’t sure how she’d react. Scowling, she poked one breast.

“Kagura-chan!” Shinpachi yelled from the living room. “Are you ready yet? I’ll leave without you!”

“You’d better wait up!” With one last tug of the hem, she ran out of the bathroom.

*

They sat on a bench, shopping piled around them. Kagura, naturally, clutched a fistful of sukonbu while Shinpachi caught his breath. She felt satisfied after coaxing her fellow Yorozuya into buying some new clothes, ones that fitted her better. Finally, she mused, a moment when Shinpachi’s natural timidity around the opposite sex had worked in her favour. He’d been too embarrassed to say anything, and she would’ve decked him halfway to the sun if he had.

“Geez, Kagura-chan. We don’t have _that_ much money, especially since we haven’t had a client in…” Shinpachi groaned and flopped forward, counting his fingers. “Five weeks?”

“I needed new clothes.”

Shinpachi grumbled. “You could’ve just asked me instead of turning our normal grocery run into a fashion shopping spree. It would take a few days, but I can make you something for way less than whatever you just bought. I mean, we barely have enough allowance left for the month, and we’re running low on baking soda again…” 

“I don’t want to hear anything about good fashion sense from the person whose outfit is a couple of lines and blue shading,” Kagura snapped.

“That’s not my point –”

“So what _is_ your point, huh? I can look after myself just fine. Just ‘cause Gin-chan isn’t around, doesn’t mean you have to be on my case all the time.”

“Can I help it if all of his worst habits rubbed off onto you?”

Kagura growled at him, nerves flaring. “Oh yeah? Which ones? At least he doesn’t nag like you do! Every day it’s ‘Kagura do this’ and ‘Kagura do that’ and I’m not dumb; you don’t have to hold my hand like I’m some baby.” She’d heard enough of Kamui’s condescending tone for a lifetime. 

“I do _not_ nag!”

“Do too!”

“Fine, fine!” Shinpachi threw his hands into the air, all straight man persona gone. “Let’s say I do nag. That I’m bossy and overbearing. What’s wrong with me wanting to protect you? With Gin-san gone, it’s my job till he gets back to make sure you’re getting fed and sleeping properly and not picking random fights.”

Beyond him having the faintest of points about her tendency to run into trouble, he was incorrect to assume she needed protection. Someone with four eyes should be able to see she was more than capable of defending herself. He should have seen a Yato, strongest race in the universe; physical strength that dwarfed his, a temper to match, head made of iron and unyielding determination. He wanted to protect her? Idiot.

He’d only done that once, and it was the first and last time it would happen. The echoes of primal anger and bloodlust; her heart pumping blood and blind rage – the memories of Yoshiwara still rattled her skull, the helplessness at being trapped in her own body as unbearable now as it had been on the day.

But she’d worked hard since then. No longer would she succumb to her baser instincts, even to save a life. She could do it all with a clear mind and clearer intentions; the means dictated by her head and not her biology.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she said. “I said I can look after myself now! What part of that didn’t you understand? And I can take care of Sadaharu too, like you always wanted. ‘Kagura’s responsible for him’, and now I am.

“Who’s the one who takes him for walks, changes his water, feeds him, brushes him when his fur gets all matted; who plays with him and tells him bedtime stories?”

Shinpachi’s face had twisted into a mask of concern and frustration, face red and lips pressed into a thin line. But she saw something else in his expression that she couldn’t put a name to exactly. He took a deep breath and smiled.

“What? Are you laughing at me?”

“No, no!” Shinpachi waved his hands defensively. “I just had a funny thought.” He scratched his head, looking at her abashedly. She hadn’t seen that sheepish smile in a long time, and she realised she’d missed it.   

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he murmured. “The minute Gin-san leaves, it’s like time actually starts passing. You’ve gotten a lot taller, Kagura, and more… independent, I guess. I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. It’s true. You are looking after Sadaharu.” He cast her a wan grin; a silent apology. She grumbled nothings but punched his arm in a friendly manner.

“Ow, Kagura-chan!” 

“Guess you’re not so bad yourself, Shinpachi. It’s nice having you around to clean the apartment.”

He sighed wistfully. “Maybe time is passing too quickly. We’re growing up so quickly. What if he comes back and doesn’t recognise us? What if we look too different?”

Kagura’s first instinct was to scoff. “Stop being such a worrywart. He’ll know you the instant he sees your dorky glasses; plus, you’ll probably be crying and look a mess. Then he’ll know it’s definitely you.”

“What if he –”

“Stop it with your what-ifs,” she interjected, quickly suppressing the small bubble of fear that had formed in her chest. What was Shinpachi’s problem, anyway? He’d been alright five seconds ago. “Stop overthinking things.”

“I’m trying to account for potential outcomes,” he said. “Kagura-chan… we don’t know _when_ he’ll return. We don’t know anything. Just that he left to find out more about the white plague, stopped for a toilet break, and hasn’t been heard from since. It’s okay to keep waiting, but we can’t sit here doing nothing.”

“Geez.” She side-eyed him, irritation mounting. “You’re the one who’s been saying we should keep the apartment clean all this time. And you make me help out.”

“I know, I know! And that’s going well so far. Just, if things get worse. The plague is spreading so quickly; people are leaving Earth daily. The Shinsengumi haven’t been around since Kondo was arrested. What will we do if riots break out over food and water? If people start getting hurt?”

“Help them, of course,” she declared, the answer self-evident.

“Yes, but _how?”_

She couldn’t help the eye roll. “Like we always do. By not sweating the small things, which you do all the time. Just go out there and beat up the bad guys; kick ‘em to the ground and teach them a lesson. It’s pretty simple, you know?”

Shinpachi, exasperated, shook his head. “That’s what we did when Gin-san was around. But now he’s not here; there’s no Shinsengumi either, even the Four Devas aren’t much help. We have to be more careful.”

“Then we wouldn’t save anyone.” 

“How is being cautious any worse than charging into a situation waving your umbrella around? If we’re going to continue helping people rather than getting in their way, we should come up with better plans, work together, and pick our fights.”

“Oh yeah, you’re the _adult._ ” She punctuated the last word with an eye roll. Another unpleasant reminder that her body was approaching maturity without her permission, dragging her kicking and screaming into the patently useless “adult” world.

“Please try to take this seriously,” Shinpachi begged.

“I will when you stop freaking out over something that hasn’t even happened yet.”

He evidently had more to say on the matter, but she promptly stood up and snatched their shopping up in both hands. “I’m heading back, see ya!”

“Wait up, give me back that bag of Bargain Dash!”

He stumbled after her, and though Kagura knew she’d taken the low road out, she couldn’t have cared less. What was the point to growing up if she couldn’t be a little childish at times? 


	3. Year 3

“Don’t wriggle around so much,” Otose ordered, tightening the bandage on his arm. Fearsome landlady, former Deva, and as it so happened, surprisingly skilled medic. And one hell of a rabble-rouser too, he thought. It was only because of her efforts that both he and Kagura were alive after a botched attempt to help a client.  

Shinpachi acquiesced with her command and allowed her to knot the gauze more firmly. He bit back a wince which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Honestly,” she sighed. “I thought you two had better sense than to go running headlong into danger without a care in the world for your own safety.” _That was more Gintoki’s style,_ Shinpachi heard the silent addendum, and allowed himself some measure of chagrin.

Though really, the reason for the cut he’d received from a particularly murderous gravedigger had been Kagura’s insistence they charge blindly in, sword and umbrella raised in general defiance of their enemies and common sense.

Making sure not to further aggravate his injury, Shinpachi stood up from the sofa. “I’d better check on Kagura,” he announced. “Thank you for your help, Otose. And I’m terribly sorry for all the inconvenience we’ve caused…”  

“Nonsense.” Her deep scowl softened at his alarm. “You shouldn’t be apologising.”

Shinpachi hung his head. He knew who she meant, but couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it.

“In any case,” he said weakly, “I really should see if Kagura is doing alright.” Bowing once, he shuffled towards Gintoki’s room. With the light off and blinds drawn, he could only discern the outlines of objects couched in shadow. Behind him, he heard Otose sighing again, then the thud of the door against its frame. Quiet crept back into the apartment, clammy and unpleasant.

Soon enough rain began to tickle the window, quickly growing into a downpour. In the middle of the room lay Kagura, eyes closed in what he hoped was dreamless sleep, undisturbed by the rain. All her limbs lay under the covers in an unnatural tableau, so unlike her usual sleep when one leg or one arm poked out stubbornly.

Shinpachi knelt down beside her, hearing the gentle fall and rise of her breathing. Although he’d earlier laid the blame at her feet for their injuries, he couldn’t find it within himself to hold onto that anger. He’d agreed to the job, after all. A young woman had come to them asking if they could help bury her recently deceased grandfather, because she could not afford the services of a gravedigger.

Morbid, but straightforward. Until she’d requested they bury him in the cemetery beside her grandmother, “because otherwise it wouldn’t be right.” Shinpachi leaned back against the door, sliding down it till he could cross his legs. Why had he given in to sentimentality? But then, Kagura hadn’t put up any protest, her own sympathy a force of its own. Each of them understood the pain of not being able to mourn the loss of a loved one, and in some ways, they were still mourning for one who they didn’t want to believe was gone. 

Was it Gintoki’s influence? Had the both of them been conditioned to help anyone in need no matter the risk of personal injury that they would just charge in unheeding? Perhaps it had been easier with an adult around, one who despite his failings was more or less reliable in a swordfight. They could feed off his strength too, all three of them drawing from one another.  

But with only him, Kagura, and their client sneaking to the cemetery, they’d been caught unawares by a horde of gravediggers. He wanted to run, sensing that a three-on-fifteen fight (one of the three being a terrified woman) would not end in their favour. Ignoring his pleas Kagura had charged forward, claiming she could clear them a path. What choice did he have but to go after her?

Even without him they clung onto their ideals, flying in the face of reason. 

As for their client, she’d run screaming in the opposite direction. Fight or flight, and her flight was what had saved their skins. Sure, they’d managed to beat three quarters of the gang up. But the remaining quarter had managed to land some impressive blows before Otose came to their rescue, a deadly calm but enraged Tama behind her.    

Then he’d passed out.

*

Shinpachi blinked sleep-encrusted eyes, aware of a faint ache at the back of his neck. His surrounds were not completely dark but approaching it, the rain now a gentle patter. What was the time? Certainly well into the evening. And Kagura – he searched out her form, heart quickening as he squinted into the darkness – but she was still lying on the futon asleep. Only then did he massage the discomfort out of his neck. 

“Shinpachi?” came her voice, low and fuzzy with sleep.

“Kagura-chan!” He rocketed up, not caring whether he sounded hysterical with worry. “How are you feeling?”

“Eurgh,” she grunted, shrinking away from his outburst. “You’re too loud.”

Shinpachi clamped his mouth shut but still fussed over her, tugging at the covers and helping her up even as she batted his hands away. He was too relieved at seeing her awake to be offended. Given that she was feisty enough to snap invectives at him (for which he didn’t think about reprimanding her), he moved to switch on the light and raise the blinds.

“It’s raining?”

Shinpachi turned to look at her, noting the odd, guarded expression. “Yeah,” he said, choosing not to comment. “Started right after Otose got us back. We were pretty lucky, huh?”

A sudden burst of wind brought a spatter of quick-firing _plinks_ to the glass, the only sound in the room.  

In the faint, dying daylight he saw her blue eyes clouding over, tousled hair hanging limply around her shoulders. For someone who should have had a refreshing, revitalising sleep, her appearance was of a bone-weary person. Shinpachi had never seen her so dispirited, but – the image of her sitting there stupefied, lost in her memories, caught on a recollection of his own.

She’d been like this in the weeks after their ill-fated trip to Yoshiwara, chased by night terrors that woke him and Gintoki up. He’d stayed at the apartment then to reassure himself, and them, that they’d made it out alive. If they were to dream of death, then they would at least die together in their sleep.

There was no doubting Kagura had it the worst, haunted by the creature she’d become. Screaming, wailing, or crying; sometimes all three would wake them up, and they’d keep her company until dawn when her body gave out into exhausted slumber. But Shinpachi couldn’t think that it was bothering her this time; she’d been remarkably poised and in control of herself during their altercation with the gravediggers. As much as that savage spark lit her eyes, she had never once flown into a Yato rage.

“Kagura-chan?” he ventured.   

She looked through him, eyes fixated on the darkened windowpane and the raindrops that clung to it. The way the shadows fell on her face, her cheeks looked sallow, giving her the air of someone far older. Shinpachi shivered, uneasiness coiling up his spine. A word came to mind: _alien._ For the first time in many, many years, he remembered that she wasn’t from Earth.

But that was ridiculous! Yato or not, it didn’t change who she was as a person – temperamental, yes, but also kind, brave, and selfless.

He reached for her. “Kagura –”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, a lie so blatant it almost offended him. “Just – go away. For a while.” Again, she shrunk from his hand, but this time her withdrawal left a deeper impression.

“Alright.” He swallowed, began to leave. “I’ll be downstairs. At the bar.”

*

Otose had been kind enough to suspend the rent while allowing Kagura and Shinpachi to live in the apartment, though she habitually declared Gintoki would have to cough up when he came back. Not just for the rent, she clarified, but for leaving two good kids (and their dog) by themselves.

She often fed them too, even when there was barely enough to go around. At first the meals were “leftovers”, then “treats”, until finally she gave up on all pretence and dragged them down – or Shinpachi down – for regular meals when she could afford them.

Dragging his feet down the stairs, he couldn’t help the bubble of guilt that began in his stomach and ended up in his head, needle-sharp and uncannily accurate in pinpointing the space behind his eyes. Shinpachi knew enough of Otose to imagine the dinner she’d have prepared for them, spread out across a reserved table in one of the roomier booths. Some kindnesses could never be repaid, and with each meal he was falling further into debt.

Shinpachi stumbled into the bar, sliding back the shoji with a weary greeting.

“Shinpachi!” Otose exclaimed, glancing around for Kagura.

“She’s still resting.”

As he’d suspected, the rice cooker was puffing away and a few plates had already been set up on the table furthest from the door, tucked away from the rowdier customers (not that there were many). Catharine, returning from a table, grumbled at him in passing, her demeanour towards him no different than usual. It relieved him somewhat that not everybody treated him and Kagura as delicate children.

“Otose, you didn’t –”

“Sit down and eat,” she barked. Shinpachi gulped and slid into the booth seat, shovelling rice from the cooker into a bowl as quickly as he could under Otose’s stern gaze. He wondered whether Kagura would even come down, but his doubts were assuaged when she entered the bar and made a beeline for the table.

“Good to see you up and about,” Otose told her.

“I was hungry,” she said  

Looking very much like the Yato he’d always known, she began plucking meat and vegetables from the plates before she was even seated. Shinpachi watched her carefully as he ate. She’d had a shower, the scent of her shampoo wafting under his nose when she reached over the table to snatch a slice of beef. The warmth in her eyes had returned, her appetite too. Nothing pointed to her earlier moodiness.

While not entirely reassuring, Shinpachi could for the moment take it for granted. Kagura being hungry was a sign of surety, as much as the sun rising or Gintoki failing to pay the rent – _and stop that train of thought right there._ He would keep the peace, both within himself and with Kagura, resolving not to trouble her with questions until afterwards.

Catharine passed by their table again, throwing the same surly greeting at Kagura that she’d done with him. The cat Amanto’s manners, at least towards them, fluctuated daily and were kept in check only by Otose. The latter kept a watchful eye on all three of them, intent on ensuring that her young charges ate properly.

Shinpachi finished up the last of his rice, careful to angle the bowl towards Otose to show that he hadn’t left a grain behind. _I have not wasted your generosity._      

“You really are too kind to us,” he said.

Ears twitching and hand equally itchy, Catharine nodded vigorously. “You brats are usin’ up all Otose’s precious money,” she growled, not moving fast enough to avoid a solid smack to the back of her head.

“I’m sure there are impatient customers,” Otose insisted lowly, glaring daggers at her employee.

Chastised, Catharine slunk away. Kagura had taken no notice of the brief exchange, or if she had, her only reaction was to shovel food ever faster into her mouth. Their temporary caretaker burrowed a hand into her robes and drew out a box of cigarettes. After lighting one up, she took a deep drag and exhaled slowly.

“Sorry about that. Don’t blame Catharine for it; she’s been under a lot of pressure lately. More so than the rest of us.” Otose waved away another attempt at an apology by Shinpachi. “But tell me, you’re both doing well after some rest?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your concern.”

Otose skirted around his half-truth, eyes landing instead on his empty bowl. Shinpachi felt his own gaze dragged to Kagura’s non-stop eating. Was that her third or fourth bowl of rice? They surely had to be eating Otose out of her home with the way things were going. The need to apologise rose in his throat again, but the old woman beat him to it. 

“Shinpachi, you can have more.”

“But –”

She cut in sharply. “As long as you’re both here living in that apartment, you’re under my care.”

“At least let me pay for the meals,” Shinpachi boldly insisted in the face of her best mothering glare. He knew too well the demands of her role; knew too what it was like to be on the other side, and was determined not to become the burden he’d always feared he was.

“Please, it’s not fair for you. I know you don’t get as many customers anymore. It’s hard to keep doing business when everyone’s leaving because of the white plague.”

“And is that your fault?”

Shinpachi’s breath stuttered, caught on the answer.

They’d never mentioned the possibility that Gintoki had left to investigate the plague. Somehow, in their naivety, Shinpachi and Kagura had assumed he would turn up one day with the cure, and that things would go back to normal. 

But where the years dragged the plague did not, greedily taking more and more lives. Shinpachi had feared that the truth of the nanomachines would only disseminate panic and misunderstanding amongst an already paranoid population. He’d told Kagura to keep quiet, and she’d agreed.

If only someone else had known – better yet, if they’d been able to prevent Gintoki from leaving…

Shinpachi lowered his head until it almost touched the table. “Please let me pay,” he whispered. “I beg you, please.”

The quietness that padded his words came unexpectedly. Even Kagura had stopped eating, chopsticks frozen halfway to her mouth. He closed his eyes, feeling his cheeks warm. It was the smallest gesture of contrition but he hoped Otose would accept it. Then there was a loud rattling of lungs and ribcage, cigarette smoke tickling his nose. 

“Shinpachi,” Otose said wearily, “Raise your head.”

He did so slowly, but didn’t quite straighten up. Opposite him, Kagura had put her chopsticks down, mouth fixed in a half-scowl.

“You’ve had a long day, and I don’t want it longer by listing all the reasons you’re wrong about being a burden. So I’m going to make it short.  

“Under my roof we’re all equals. Or at least we’re stuck here together, too poor to go anywhere else.” She barked humourlessly. “It’s alright, you know? You’re too young to be playing the hero by yourself. Not everything has to fall on your shoulders, and as much as that old codger pretended otherwise, you were there to help him.

“When you get as old as I do, you realise that relying on others isn’t some irreversible slight to your pride. You care, and let yourself be cared for. And me? I just want to look after you; the _both_ of you. The world ain’t got much going for it right now, and we only have each other. So won’t you indulge an old woman’s wishes?”

Otose stubbed her cigarette out in an ash tray she’d earlier grabbed from the counter. “I don’t want to see a single scrap of food left on those plates, you hear me?”

A sudden scuffling and the sound of broken glass diverted her attention, and she headed off to break up the fight. Shinpachi stared at his still empty bowl. The chopsticks balanced atop it trembled with the force of Kagura’s fist meeting the table.

“What were you thinking?” she snapped.

“Wh – what?”

“Don’t give me that! What is it with your self-pity and ‘it’s all my fault’ act? You seriously think that everything bad in the world happens because of you?”

Shinpachi physically recoiled, caught off guard by the venom in Kagura’s voice. What had brought this on? “Of course not. But today at least, I should have held you back, or gone back for help myself.”

It was Kagura’s turn to splutter an outraged “what?!”, her meal completely forgotten. “You thought I was helpless? That I couldn’t take on all those men who were bigger than me?”

“Well, no, I…”

“Do you even remember the time we met? I handed those guys their asses _before_ you turned up on the scene. I wasn’t some delicate flower then, and I’m not one now. Those idiots today just got lucky. Mostly because you were getting in my way. I told you I could handle it, but you had to run in after me.”

The slight to his pride overrode even his affection for her, the strain of the day’s events loosening his tongue. “You mean that it was all my fault that _you_ rushed in blindly without thinking of the consequences?”

“You’re one to talk about being blind,” she scoffed. “I knew what I was doing.”

He shook his head. He’d credit Kagura with brute strength any day, but he had a better grasp of tactics than she did. “You think you can get away walking into a trap without a plan? That you can wing it and come out the other side alive? Only Gin-san could do that, and you’re –” He had enough sense to catch himself, but the damage was done.

Kagura’s eyes blazed blue, and he would have been able to deal with her had she upended the entire table and pelted him with the cold, sad remains of their dinner, but the electricity crackling around her figure scared him more than he would admit; the cold anger he’d never expected from her.    

“You know what?” she hissed, eyes narrowing. “You’re not him either. And you never will be.”

Shinpachi felt his hands trembling, clenching into fists. He wouldn’t hit her – not that he was capable of it; his throat was tightening, vision splintering into shards of red and white. His face was so warm, the grating laughter of the other customers echoing in his ears. He had to hand it to Kagura: a girl who could inflict blunt force trauma with her fists and do the same with her words. Because, in the end, she was right.

Three years ago, Gintoki had been flesh and blood: the Shiroyasha, saviour of Yoshiwara, Otose’s good-for-nothing tenant. For all his feats he was human; an employer who never paid his employees, Kagura’s stand-in father, and someone he’d been proud to call family. He would get drunk, waste their money on pachinko, and collapse at the door like any other deadbeat dad; would just as quickly shoot up sober to hide an old friend from the Shinsengumi. On some days, they could even rely on him to walk Sadaharu.

But in his absence he left a wake of unreality, his image stretching over the wasted earth and in their collective memory as a figure larger than life. They began to speak of him as one would a legend, a hero in a fable, fragmented perspectives drawn into a grander narrative.    

Shinpachi may have been able to catch up to him in life, but in death he was untouchable.

Kagura glared at him still, silently challenging him to one-up her if he dared. He refused to take the bait.

“I’m leaving,” he announced, and slid out of the booth in a single motion. Too focused on making a dignified exit, he left behind the half-full plates and Otose’s earlier words.

*

The rain hadn’t completely cleared up, but staying dry was the least of his concerns. Shinpachi found himself wandering back up to the apartment, since he was in no mood to make the walk back to the dojo under cover of near complete darkness. Only half-conscious of what he was doing, he wound up in Gintoki’s room.

Kagura had left the futon covers in a mess, not that he cared. She could fold it back herself if she was as independent as she claimed to be. Instead, his gaze shifted to the closet. It didn’t take him long to find Lake Toya tucked away beside the kimonos. He’d known it was there, but he’d refrained from taking it, even for safekeeping, in the belief that Gintoki would come back. The silver samurai always been particular about others touching his cheap, bought-after-seeing-an-infomercial piece of diamond-hard wood.

In Gintoki’s hands it had wrought miracles, but it couldn’t bring the dead back to life.

Shinpachi lifted it to his ear as if to hear the spirit that inhabited the sword, but only silence answered. He laughed to himself, and tucked it under an arm. Well, he’d make do.


	4. Year 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I'm going to actually stick to a writing and updating schedule...

“Kagura, you should stay for longer next time.”

Otose’s usual plea sounded much wearier than she last remembered, the cigarette gravel to her voice harsher. Kagura sniffed, throwing back the glass of amber liquid.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not about to hang around long enough to cross paths with him.”

She knew Shinpachi sometimes dropped by the bar to speak to Otose, mostly for intelligence on the local bandits and their raiding patterns. Kagura’s visitations weren’t social either, but she enjoyed the faint buzz she got from a good shot of sake. Nowhere else in Edo could she get the same thrill up her spine and the temporary forgetting that accompanied it. The only drawback was Otose’s attempts to play mediator between the two.

“He’s a lost cause, you know. You can’t get through to him. He’s too stubborn to see beyond his own righteousness.”

“But you both come here, and for whatever reason, it’s something you have in common. I wouldn’t be so forward as to say what that is, but I think it’s worth considering.”

Kagura scoffed. Whatever commonality they’d had was buried under enough resentment to never again see the light of day. Even if Gintoki came back, he’d have a hard time reconciling the two.

“You miss him,” Otose continued. “Both of you.”

Nothing in her words suggested smug knowing or even confidence; just weariness, at the world and the stubbornness of youth. Kagura scowled at her reflection wavering in the bottom of the glass, wondering whether it was worth putting up a token defence.

Eventually, she settled on, “He’ll come back.” She knew it wasn’t a reply to Otose and didn’t care, or maybe she did – just a little bit, a little bit too much. The glass made a dull thunk as it hit the wooden counter. Her fingers tingled not too unpleasantly, her cheeks flushed. 

They were coming up on four years and he had yet to return. No matter what anyone else thought (including her own cold, creeping suspicion) she was determined to believe he’d come back. Four years of waiting, shouldering hope and expectation; four years of perseverance that might have made a saint of her had she been one to believe in saints; all her efforts could not be undone by the inconvenient possibility of him being dead.

She pushed the shot glass forward. “Another.”

But Otose shook her head, cigarette clenched between tight teeth. “No more,” she said firmly, hoisting the now empty bottle and glass away. Petulantly, Kagura made a grab for both despite knowing there was nothing to be had; she felt she still had a point to make, perhaps more to herself than Otose – that she was in control of something.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Have it your way.” Wasn’t sour grapes or anything. Sudden coughing issued from the booth in the corner, and Kagura turned her head to eye the source.

“How come,” she said, words rasping around her dry mouth, “How come you keep giving drinks to Madao?” The wizened figure coughed again, thumping his chest to help the sake go down more smoothly. His lips were permanently attached to a bottle as far as she knew. Every time she dropped by he was there, fixed in his corner.

“He’s different,” Otose sniffed. “You’re still young, and dare I say, have a lot more to live for.”

Kagura barked humourlessly, the residual fuzz of alcohol soothing the edges of her frustration. What kind of existence consisted solely of waiting for someone to come back?

Otose cleaned the glass and Hasegawa kept on drinking, leaving Kagura to blearily contemplate the shelves behind the counter, still replete with wine and spirits. She tasted cigarette smoke and bitterness at the back of her mouth, memories swilling drearily at bottom of a dark, dark hole four years deep.

Unconsciously she dropped a hand dropped to her kimono, gathering it up till the blue swirls were scrunched between her fingers. Damn Shinpachi had gotten to the sword before her, but it wasn’t as if she’d needed it. Sadaharu and her umbrella were good enough. Had always been enough.

“Isn’t that right, boy?” she murmured, raising a hand to pet the top of his head. The dog yipped in alarm as her hand landed heavily on his right ear instead, which was enough to bring her back to reality. Otose watched the exchange without comment.

“Say, Otose, you still believe he’ll be back, right?”

She’d known him longer than they had, and if anyone’s judgement could be trusted, it was hers. Not that it meant she was the arbiter of Gintoki’s comings-and-goings; merely that her opinion held more value in Kagura’s eyes than most.

But the old woman shrugged – actually shrugged! – and stared into the distance. “I don’t know,” she said with the finality of one who had spent far too long asking herself the same question.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Otose repeated. “You think that just because I met him before you that I know everything about how his head works?”

“Don’t give me that,” Kagura snapped.

“It’s all I have to give,” the old woman retorted. “He was a bundle of contradictions, that one. When I first saw him, he was eating the offerings I’d left for my husband. The snow that day was heavy, coming down thick and in droves. By all rights he should’ve been dead of exposure, but the minute he got his hands on those buns he couldn’t stop stuffing them into his mouth like some ravenous beast.

“Thinking back, it was amazing he’d survived long enough to be more than just a pile of bones and skin. That man had a way of clinging to life even when he didn’t want to. Maybe it was because he’d seen too much dying, maybe not enough.”

The careful allusion to his past didn’t escape Kagura, and not for the first time, she resented that blind spot in her knowledge. 

“In those early days he was like two men: a rebel and a follower, someone who couldn’t bear to be kept under anyone’s thumb for too long, but also someone in desperate need of guidance. But that balance was so fragile. When I gave him shelter he found himself undeserving or too poor; some of the excuses were piss-weak, really. It was only when I put my foot down that he obeyed.”

Otose paused long enough to crush her first cigarette and light another.

“Before you and Shinpachi came along he still moved between those two poles, unable to ever settle. Sometimes he’d come back from jobs bloodied, bruised, and needing ten feet of bandages. It was like he’d rushed headlong into the arms of death but held himself back at the last minute for whatever reason. Just clinging onto life by the faintest of threads, perhaps hope, that someone – anyone – would reach out to him and tell him there was another way of living.

“And for a while that person was me. Didn’t do _my_ life expectancy any favours, I can tell you.” She snorted, rolling fond eyes.

“But then you two turned up. Just barged into his personal space and made yourselves right at home.” Otose had a hearty chuckle at that, and Kagura felt her lips involuntarily twitching.

“I didn’t think he would change much, but you proved me wrong. He – seemed to become more _real,_ if I can put it that way. He started living in the present and not so much in the past, allowing himself a second chance. You and Shinpachi lit the way for him.

“Until he disappeared, I thought he’d finally overcome those old demons. If not overcome, then learned to live with. But now, I wonder whether he fell back into that way of thinking from long ago, caught between living and dying and not quite sure which to choose.”

She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into nothing.

“Kagura, there was never a good time to mention this, but I don’t know when or if I’ll see you next.” Otose crushed the cigarette in her palm, turning her full attention to the other woman. “We were thinking of commissioning a gravestone for Gintoki, before the undertakers drop dead themselves.”

Sadaharu tilted his head and whined questioningly. Kagura was inclined to agree.

“What? Are you serious?” That in itself seemed absurd, then cruel. Laying down a gravestone translated to “we gave up” in her mind, and if they’d abandoned hope, what did that make her? A fool for clinging on to a past that no longer existed?

“It’s been so long, Kagura. I may not know what to think, but the others are sure he’s gone. Catharine, a few of the Yoshiwara women… even Otae. They wanted to do something to honour his memory.”

If they were to do anything to honour his memory, they could have a little more faith that he wasn’t dead. But Kagura held her tongue out of respect for Otose, and partly because she was too tired to protest. The faint wisp of doubt at the back of her mind uncurled a bit more in response. Believing was a tiresome labour which so far had borne no fruit, and over time her heart had grown barren.

It was not hard to think the same had happened to the others, who too had been consumed by resignation. The more they fought to believe, the quicker they slipped into doubt. Struggling against themselves, the kindest way out was to settle on one and not the other; that he was dead and not alive. The gravestone acknowledged and honoured this, was a necessity that allowed the living to move on and the dead to rest.  

Kagura had left behind her mother’s grave as it collected rain, and thought that he didn’t deserve the same fate. But that was what the world had come to, ravaged as it was by the white plague – death did not discriminate or take sides; war veterans and vagabonds alike would succumb to it eventually, and even Gintoki, former Shiroyasha, could not escape. Life, too, strangled the living with futile hope until they let go.       

She traced the whorls of the wooden counter under a calloused thumb. Those same curving lines were echoed in blue and white on Gintoki’s kimono, lapping at her ankles. Sadaharu nudged her side as if to comfort her. Maybe he felt it too; her beating pulse against the dead weight she wore. Kagura didn’t remember the last time she’d felt so tired.

“I suppose,” she said hollowly, “That I can’t tell you how to remember him.” It wasn’t capitulation, but neither was it victory. Everyone had long given up the illusion of that binary.

Otose cracked the faintest of smiles, dry but kind.

“Think about it this way. If he turns up again, it’d be at his own grave. And he’d be scoffing down his own offerings, laughing all the while.”

The image held some appeal, and Kagura felt her heart lighten a little.

“Thank you, Granny,” she said.

Otose smiled at the old familiarity. “You’re welcome.”

*

Another day, another bowl of ramen. Could have done with a bit less sesame oil, though. Ikumatsu had perfected the ratio of oil to soup.

Kagura eyed the television in the corner of the ceiling as a jaunty tune signalled the start of the weather forecast. The restaurant owner yawned disinterestedly, but turned his attention to it since he had nothing better to do when there was only one customer.

A familiar face appeared on the screen.  

“This is Ketsuno Ana with the weather! You’ll be glad to know that yesterday’s rains were the last for a week; from today until next Tuesday we’ll have bright, happy sunshine! Enjoy it while you can, because storm clouds are on the way…”

Kagura slurped up the soup on autopilot, interest already waning. The storm would blow a couple of roofs off at worst, but recent severe weather events had failed to finish off Edo completely.

Of greater concern was how Ketsuno Ana was still around in this hellhole. Or how the TV station was still up. Stranger things had happened. These few pieces of normality that predated the white plague seemed more alien than comforting; they stood out for the charming if antiquated assumption of business as usual, the surety that the world would just keep going as long as everyone acted normally.

What naivety. She dropped a bill on the counter and collected her umbrella.

“Thank you for your continued patronage, Gura-san!” the owner called.

Kagura raised a brief hand in acknowledgement. She remembered when Ikumatsu had still been the one to greet and see her off. But she’d come down with the plague so suddenly, and passed on just as quickly, that Kagura had waved goodbye one month and arrived back the next to a new face.  

Too many people she knew were six feet under.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch_ went her boots through the glass and dust. “Come on, Sadaharu.”

The giant dog gave an affirmative bark and got up from where he’d been waiting outside the restaurant, then both continued their walk through what was once Kabukicho. Technically it still was Kabukicho, but when Edo was barely populated and just scraped in to the definition of “civilisation”, there was no point in drawing lines. 

Appetite as bottomless as ever, Kagura rooted around in her pockets for sukonbu. It was something of a rarity these days but she refused to give it up. Shinpachi clung onto his so-called honour under that tough exterior; she had her sukonbu. Or not. She cursed quietly when she came up empty-handed.

“Let’s go, Sadaharu,” she commanded. “Old man Dazai better have a new batch in today.”

“Arf,” he agreed. 

For all that Edo resembled a barren battlefield, it held pockets of civilisation in the few remaining storefronts. Nobody had permanent shops anymore, but a few of the shopkeepers who’d been too stubborn even for the plague moved their wares from empty store to store. Old man Dazai was the only one who sold passable sukonbu and stuck to as rigid a schedule as circumstances allowed to permit her to track him down.

She found his poky, rundown business around the former Shinsengumi headquarters after some searching, only to be met by the sight of bandits crowding the storefront.

“C’mon old man, hand over everything ya got,” one growled. “I’m _starving._ ”

In one fluid motion Kagura rolled her eyes and hefted her umbrella up. Bandits had proliferated without effective law enforcement, though Kagura helped keep them in check. Shinpachi too. She’d heard more than enough about his ridiculous heroics. A couple of the more extreme Joui factions considered themselves vigilantes, roaming Edo to mete out their own form of justice. Kagura didn’t mind what they did as long as they all stayed out of her way.

“Oi,” she yelled. “You lot over there! Yes, you ugly primates.”     

“Huh?” A couple of the bandits turned around to assess the new arrival. “It’s a woman,” one sniggered. “And she ain’t even wearing a mask!”

“Lady, you got a death wish?”

She almost felt sorry for him.

*

“Aw, and I was doing so well with this kimono.”

Kagura inspected the bloody mess the bandit’s fingers had made along the bottom edge, then considered the chunk of missing fabric balefully. A foolish attempt from a beaten man to drag her down with him, and an ultimately futile one when she’d near kicked his skull in.  

“Ah, Kagura.” Dazai bowed to her, his toothless mouth forming a wide grin. “Thanks for the save there.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing, old man. I’m just here for the sukonbu.”

“Of course. One bag as usual?”

She nodded, more intent on examining the soiled fabric to determine whether it was salvageable. She was quite proud of the record she had with this kimono; almost two months and it hadn’t yet been torn, shredded, (overly) bloodied, or stained. Until now. In the early days she’d gone through ten kimonos in two weeks, so preserving the remaining ones became a necessity. Sadaharu nudged her hand, whining softly.

“I know, boy. We’ll head back to the apartment and pick up a new one.”

Old man Daizai coughed politely before handing her a plastic bag. “There you go. Consider it free of charge. Dealing with the bandits was payment enough.”

“Thanks.” Kagura slipped the sukonbu into Sadaharu’s harness. “Where will you be next?”

“The old terminal, probably. Most people have moved there. I only come out here because you’re my best customer, but I have days where I wonder if it’s worth the risk.”

Her lips twitched into a wry smile. He wasn’t wrong. “I’ll see you around.”

*

She easily avoided the bar, trying her best to light foot it up the stairs with a pair of clunky, heavy boots. Not having the luxury of a bipedal form, Sadaharu moved after her far more slowly.

The door didn’t creak when she nudged it open, and a quick scan told her that nothing had changed since her last visit. Even Otose didn’t dare disturb the interior of the apartment itself, the air too funeral, too fragile. As far as she knew, Shinpachi hadn’t been back since that night. She’d moved out to one of the abandoned buildings not long afterwards, returning only occasionally for a new kimono or two.

Kagura ignored the light switch as she moved forward, not wanting to give anyone outside a hint that the apartment was occupied. A floorboard creaked behind her as Sadaharu’s weight bore down on it.

“Shh,” she hushed him. “How about you sit for now? Stay there. I won’t be long.”

With a soft huff and not so soft displacement of air, the giant dog sank onto the floor. She spared him a brief glance to make sure he’d stay put, then wondered whether the living room had always been so small.

Shaking her head, Kagura slipped into Gintoki’s room. She found the kimonos stacked up in the closet, clean as the day she’d washed them. How long ago had that been? Back in the first year? Still convinced that their boss wouldn’t want to return to a garbage tip, Shinpachi had rooted out every last bit of clothing in the apartment to wash. She’d groused that she sure as hell wasn’t going to wash the dirty underwear Gintoki had left behind, because that was undoubtedly _gross_ and a lady like her shouldn’t be touching a man’s intimate wear anyway.

So Shinpachi had shoved the basket containing all twenty of Gintoki’s kimonos into her hands and left her there.

She’d near shredded the first two by scrubbing too hard, and then Sadaharu really had shredded one in his jaws following a well-intentioned attempt to help out. (He also got a bath out of his efforts, which crossed one thing off their to-do list earlier than expected). Predictably, Shinpachi had ended up mending the ruined kimono.  

So by day’s end all twenty were hanging around the apartment, flopping like dead fish when she attacked each with a hairdryer. Seeing their struggle, Otose had allowed them to set up a clothesline of sorts on the roof with some spare twine.   

Kagura recalled the lemony scent of the laundry detergent and Tama methodically pegging each one up. Otose had called them down afterwards for a well-earned meal, and they’d sat around a table laughing at the mental image of Gintoki drunk off his head, face-first in a dumpster somewhere snoring the day away, struggling to sober up at night and not get arrested for public indecency.

“Gin-chan” wasn’t there, but “Yorozuya Gin-chan” still existed back then. The younger Kagura had never thought for one second it could disappear or break up; the three of them odd jobbing six days out of seven and saving the world on the seventh. (Without ever getting paid for it) There’d never been a reason to believe they would stop.

Then the white plague hit Edo and the entire world, and he didn’t come back. Civilisation collapsed in comical slow motion not long afterwards; the Shinsengumi scattered to the four winds after Kondo’s arrest; Gengai was arrested; Katsura lost whatever sanity he’d originally had. Yet in the face of misfortune after misfortune, she and Shinpachi had kept the Yorozuya going.

With hindsight, Kagura wondered whether it was nothing more than their belief in Gintoki returning that had united them. Maybe they’d always been destined to part ways after growing up. She hit puberty and revelled in her independence, while Shinpachi…  

He’d certainly gotten taller and leaner, shedding his comic routine in the absence of a fool to play the straight man to. But in her eyes he’d hardly matured, still playing the serious adult in a teenage body, believing his few years over her endowed him with natural superiority. Unlike him, Kagura didn’t pretend to be a grown-up; she was just herself, answerable to no one and no force.

(Besides, who _wanted_ to be an adult? They were all useless.)

They rarely crossed paths as they went about their work, but when they did he never missed the opportunity to lecture her on “responsibility”, like he was the only one who understood its true meaning. When he spoke, Kagura heard her older brother’s coldness and disdain, the rarefied air of his moral mount freezing each word. She heard too the condescending, “I am your elder” lilt Kamui liked, but she knew it was a clumsy attempt to fill the vacuum Gintoki’s disappearance had created. It betrayed his uncertainty, his vain efforts to be brother, protector, samurai, and whoever else the world demanded he be.

Gintoki would’ve laughed himself stupid. Gintoki had always been Gintoki, stupidest samurai in the universe.  

Though that begged the question – if he came back, where would that place the Yorozuya? Whatever certainty, whatever faith she’d had in its existence, while not crushed to pieces, was no longer as strong.

_You and Shinpachi lit the way for him,_ Otose said.

The problem was, she couldn’t imagine working with Shinpachi again. Yet she couldn’t imagine the Yorozuya without him. Whatever combination of her and Gintoki she could conjure up didn’t feel right if he was missing. Who would they mercilessly tease? Who would they yell at for being much too sensible? Who would she complain to when Gintoki ate all the food in the fridge? Out of her thoughts, the only one that came anywhere near comforting was that just Shinpachi and Gintoki weren’t much of a Yorozuya either.  

But really, it wasn’t much of a comfort.

The people who’d run her over with a scooter were the same people she’d chosen, not necessarily more important than the family she’d left behind, but precious to her in ways that eclipsed blood ties. Shinpachi had shown her kindness even when she hadn’t wanted it, and trusted her with his life when they fought together.

Although he had Kamui’s petulance and condescension now, he was Shinpachi still: nerdy, weak, prone to over-worrying, strong in ways he didn’t see. It perplexed her, this lingering affection for him, was among the many things about this new world for which she had no explanation. Should she have more hope in him than the ragged possibility of Gintoki coming back alive?

What a terrible thought.

Shaking her head, she reached for the topmost kimono and shook it out. It was in perfect condition, no moth holes or tears. The blinds admitted slanting moonlight, drifting across the top of her head and over the kimono. If she just extended her arm she could grasp that silvering light, hold it to her chest.

The sky, clear and glimmering, bore no resemblance to the rainy night she’d woken up to after their encounter with the gravediggers. In her haze of exhaustion, she’d heard only rain falling through time; thought of her mother dying to thunderous hammering on the tin roof, of Umibozou’s boots splashing mockingly into the distance. She remembered Shinpachi’s wet footprints, dark and angry on the floorboards. Not long after his departure, she too abandoned the nightmare of an empty nest.

Sadaharu whined piteously from outside, and Kagura took that as her cue to move back to the present. She bundled the kimono into his harness and took one last look around the apartment. It was still a shell, every surface washed in pale moonlight. Eerily clean if not for the dust.    

Maybe, in the morning, she would go visit the cemetery.


	5. Year 5

On the fifth anniversary of Gintoki’s passing the sky was clear, the spring air clean. Errant leaves, green and dewy fresh, tumbled down the road. It was a charitable name; the “road” had long since fallen into disrepair. These days it more resembled negative space bounded on both sides by plaster and ruin. Names no longer matched discernible places, but Shinpachi resisted the temptation to forget. He held on to everything.

Tae didn’t stir even when he stepped out. She was as disciplined a sleeper and waker as she ever was, and wouldn’t be disturbed by his absence. The early morning sun was muted by thin cloud cover, but nothing that portended rain. On his way to the cemetery Shinpachi stopped at old man Dazai’s stand for a box of dango.

“Fine morning,” Dazai offered.

Shinpachi tossed him 300 yen and took the cardboard box, its warmth settling in his palm. “Thank you.”

His sword bumped his waist as he turned. Lake Toya remained a formidable foe for any wrong-doers, but its edge was sometimes too keen, too eager to taste blood. The ferocity of its bite wrong-footed Shinpachi at times, and he’d grown used to carrying around a second sword. Besides, it was common sense to have a back-up weapon. Nothing wrong with that.

His pace brisk, he reached the cemetery gates in little under half an hour. Amidst the carnage caused by the white plague, its orderliness sometimes struck him as uncanny. The graves were swept clean and the dead flowers removed regularly; no one was sure whether it was a coordinated or spontaneous effort, by one person or several. No one would’ve bet on the mysterious caretaker(s) being human, either. Could just as easily be an Amanto, like the hulking green ogre that sometimes appeared in the city.

Shinpachi, though, thought it was exactly the sort of thing an old retired couple might do: trimming the trees, watering and pruning the plants; sweeping leaves off the graves; chasing off foxes and crows. A quiet existence in a pocket of normality, bringing calm to the storm. The dead were not only good company, but good protection. People kept their mischief well away from the cemetery. As the temples fell and the shrines succumbed to nature, people abandoned the divine for ash and soil; that which could be seen and touched, mourned and remembered.

“Hello, Gintoki.”  

Shinpachi planted his feet before the stone marker. Light glanced off the edges. He knelt, placing the box of dango in front of Gintoki’s name. After all this time, he half expected his old mentor to leap out and devour every stick. In some part of him he struggled to think of Gintoki as dead _dead_ – he’d gone fishing, gone for a dump, gone on a long vacation from which he had yet to return, even if it was to the land of the dead. (They’d briefly consulted Gedomaru and Ketsuno Ana to no avail.)

“Oi.”

Shinpachi took a breath, exhaled, and turned to face the source of the voice.

“Yes, Kagura?”

“You gonna hog that spot forever?”

Her eyes, a sea of disdain, had grown larger and more vivid since he’d last seen her. They sometimes ran into each other on their bandit-extermination jobs. A small world it was, like an eggshell they’d shared without either ever breaking out. She held her umbrella lazily, no doubt to make a spectacle of her strength; in her other hand was a plastic bag containing what he assumed to be her offerings. Sadaharu barked once. He seemed larger and furrier, his face having taken on an older, angrier air to reflect his mistress.

“I wasn’t aware cemeteries were places of entitlement.”

A roll of her eyes, which undercut the otherwise mature air her height gave her. “Don’t be so sanctimonious. Gintoki mattered to me too.”

“I never said he didn’t.”

But Shinpachi moved aside anyway, a small shuffle to indicate this was as much space he was willing to afford her, a gracious gesture to mark the day of their mentor’s passing. As the elder, he was bound to show the younger what proper etiquette was, even if she didn’t appreciate it.

Naturally, Kagura near stepped on his foot to force him over some more so that Sadaharu could fit. Refusing to give up any more ground (he was the _elder,_ goddamit), Shinpachi dug his heels in. The dog squeezed himself beside Kagura anyhow. All three, now squashed uncomfortably together because of their obstinacy and absolute refusal to capitulate to each other, stared at the marble gravestone.

“You idiot. You got him dango?”

Kagura scoffed, nose turning up.

“I don’t see you doing any better.”

She fished out a carton of strawberry milk, waving it under his nose as if it was self-explanatory. “You see? This is a proper tribute to Gin-chan.”

“It’s the obvious and thus boring tribute,” Shinpachi corrected icily. “I went for something affordable that Gin-san liked.” He tried not to think that dango and strawberry milk made a good combination, even when they hadn’t been trying to coordinate their offerings.   

In answer, Kagura nudged the box off-centre so that her carton took pride of place in front of Gintoki’s name. Shinpachi resisted the childish urge to push it back. _I am better than this,_ he told himself. _I will not lower myself to Kagura’s level of behaviour._

He stared resolutely at the grey stone, so still and dead. It didn’t suit Gintoki. He could be lazy to the point of not moving at all on hot summer afternoons, the electric fan lifting just the tips of his silver hair, but he’d squirm and snore (open-mouthed), chest moving with rhythmic life.

Marble didn’t seem befitting either, though they hadn’t had any choice in the matter. Gintoki had never been smooth (never with the ladies); from the top of his unruly perm to the scuffed tips of his well-worn boots, he’d been a package of profanity and rough-hewn resilience.

He heard Kagura’s irritated sigh.

Despite himself, Shinpachi snapped, “what?” She was ruining the illusion he’d just managed to build of her not being there.

“Oh, nothing.”

Her airy reply was surely a bait. No, he would _not_ take it. He wasn’t getting into an argument with her, not today of all days, because this was out of _respect_ for Gintoki and he would’ve wanted them to not be at each other’s throats (even if Shinpachi wanted to strangle Kagura), so he’d keep his calm and –

Sadaharu started howling, some inugami version of paying tribute to the deceased. A flock of startled birds took flight from the nearest tree. Somewhere, impossibly, a cat yowled. In a blink Shinpachi was on his feet, indignation and outrage flaring up.

“Kagura!” he yelled, face reddening and glasses almost lifting right off his face, “control your dog! He’s disrespecting all the souls here, never mind Gintoki’s!”

Fiery with indignation for her dog, Kagura leapt up too, jabbing her umbrella at his midriff. “That’s it, I’ve had it with you. I thought we could _maybe_ get along today but you couldn’t even manage to stop being so stuck-up and broody for _ten minutes_!”

“It’s not me!” Shinpachi yelled back. He pointed to Sadaharu, his howling now a long whine. “It’s your stupid dog! Can’t you have him on a leash, at least?”

“Leash Sadaharu?!” Kagura stormed into Shinpachi’s personal space, toe to toe with him. “He’s no danger to anybody. And you know this stuffy cemetery isn’t at all what Gin-chan would’ve wanted, right? He’d be happy that Sadaharu is just Sadaharu, not some teenager with middle-school syndrome pretending to be a samurai.”

Shinpachi gave up hope of holding onto his temper. “You’re challenging me as a samurai? You dare?” His hand wandered down to his waist, settling atop the sword that was not Lake Toya.

“Is it a challenge you want?”

A familiar spark lit up her eyes, red hair crackling with intent. Her umbrella came up in a brutal purple arc, its tip gleaming under the sun. Her feet adjusted into a fighting stance, the kimono’s blue swirls following her movement seamlessly. “Come get it.”

But movement caught both their eyes; a white fuzzy shape that had approached the gravestone and was –

“SADAHARU,” Shinpachi let out a strangled yell.

The dog, driven by his appetite, whuffed once before the rest of the dango went into his maw. Sticky sauce dripped from his teeth as he nosed the strawberry milk. The box crumpled beneath a large, oblivious paw.  

Too shocked to do anything, Shinpachi could only stare. This wasn’t happening. This was ridiculous. This was making a mockery of Gintoki. How could this happen? It was like the old days when he watched everyone around him play the fool and he yelled at them as the straight man did. Kagura – she –

She began laughing.

“S-Sadaharu, you’ve done it now, four-eyes here is gonna explode –” She dissolved into fits of laughter, wiping the tears from her eyes. The umbrella lay quiescently from her hand, the intensity from before vanished. She looked, to all intents and purposes, like the Kagura he’d known, not the woman calling herself Gura-san.

Sadaharu cocked an ear in his owner’s direction, temporarily distracted from his quest to open the strawberry milk. The strawberry. Milk. Wait...

“Get that dog away from the carton!” Shinpachi screeched, not caring how high his voice sounded. He had enough memory of the last time Sadaharu and strawberry milk combined to know it was a recipe for disaster. He dove forward, intent on freeing the carton before it fell victim to a famished dog; never mind his dango, the entire planet was at stake if he didn’t prevent another dogaggedon.

He got one hand on the milk, Sadaharu’s paw still attached. Dog and human stared each other down.

“Kagura,” he tried. “Get. Him. Off.”

“Oh no,” she replied, clearly enjoying the show. “I want to see what happens.”

Very much resembling a dog himself, Shinpachi growled as he tugged the carton towards him, knees braced on the ground. Sadaharu whined in displeasure and seemed to exert an upsettingly small effort in pulling the carton back to his side.

“Stop it,” Shinpachi said, whether to the dog or Kagura he didn’t know. Another lunge, thwarted by Sadaharu’s superhuman strength. Back and forth they went. The tug-of-war made Shinpachi want to laugh or scream, sometimes both at the same time, but mostly laugh. He hadn’t felt so stupid in so long and thought nothing of how he looked, this pointless struggle atop the grave of someone they’d called brother and father.

Sadaharu had apparently decided it was time to settle the game. Shinpachi felt his fingers slipping; he saw visions of the Earth’s destruction by an upright, red-eyed rabid Sadaharu smashing his way across the empty continents, was almost tempted to let him do away with the world they now called home, and good riddance to it, but then –

With one sharp word and a flick of Kagura’s hand, Sadaharu let go of the carton.

“Sit, boy,” and he did. Shinpachi found himself on his backside too, blinking in consternation at the tattered milk carton, its contents sloshing about inside.

“C’mon, four-eyes. Like I would’ve let him.” She smirked. 

And suddenly the tension drained from Shinpachi’s shoulders; he allowed his spine to slump and the carton to drop out of his fingers, rolling onto the ground. It’d be a milkshake by now, surely. A milkshake. Ha ha. Kagura had never intended to let Sadaharu drink it. She’d known this. He hadn’t. He’d assumed she was the irresponsible, bratty dog owner from years back, not the (annoyingly) competent and sly fighter she was now. It irked him to think she had him figured out better than he her, but again, the urge to laugh bubbled up in his throat.    

The fifth anniversary was supposed to be dignified, solemn; Shinpachi would light the incense sticks and place his offering, offer a private word or two, then silently contemplate the last year and what might lay ahead in his fight against bandits, the plague, the state of the world. But Kagura had bowled right in with Sadaharu, uprooting all order and decorum. They’d brought colour and madness, their own brand of foolhardiness and the urge to laugh in the face of the world’s misery.  

With a start, Shinpachi realised Hajime would’ve laughed too, that obnoxious, full belly-laugh of his. Nothing was sacred enough to not be laughed at; he would’ve bellowed at the surreal tug-of-war, the cemetery, the white plague itself. And he wouldn’t have expected anything less from his family.

Shinpachi stared at the forlorn carton and laughed.

Kagura stared at him oddly, but looked for the first time caught off guard.    

Then they both laughed, long as a crow’s caw and containing all the grief they couldn’t cry; Gintoki’s headstone a silent witness to their outburst. At long last the sound stopped. The clouds dragged their shadows over the ground, the sunlight playing along the rounded edges. Just this once, Shinpachi promised himself, just this once they’d remember what it was like to be the Yorozuya and friends. Tomorrow it would return to how it was, and how it had been for the previous five years.

He wanted to say something profound, to mark this moment with words so eloquent Kagura would remember them even when she hated him, but all he could say was, “the wild animals would’ve eaten the dango anyway. It was probably for the best that Sadaharu had them first.”

“Wow, Shinpachi making sense.”

Kagura deigned to offer him a slight twitch of her lips. Beside her, Sadaharu (jaw still sticky with sauce) sneezed in a manner that could be interpreted as friendly. She stared at the grave, as if she could see through to Gintoki’s spirit and commune with it. Then she regarded him through narrow eyes.

“You’re never going to repeat this to anyone,” she warned, before her voice softened, carrying on the wind to his ears. “I miss him.”

Shinpachi, for the first time in too long, spoke honestly. “So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did this take me so long to upload? I don't know. But it's finally finished. Thank you to everyone who's read and left kudos or comments :')


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